Death Smiles at Us
by jbirdpuff
Summary: In a world where Voldemort wins, muggleborns and blood traitors are sorted and sold like property. Hermione Granger gets bought by young Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, to act as his champion in the Wizarding version of the Roman Gladiator Games. Slowburn dramione!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Pretty dark and pretty serious, Voldemort Wins AU for you guys. This is my first Dramione fic, and it's going to be a pretty long one. I have been thinking about this story for a long time though, so I am excited! Hopefully you guys like it!**

**It took me a week to fully outline this entire story. **

**Let me know what you thought in the reviews!**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything**

* * *

**Chapter One**

Draco twirled the tumbler in front of his eyes and watched the flickering of the distorted flames dance in the fireplace of his father's office. He didn't know how long he sat there, and to be honest, he didn't even know how he'd gotten to that point. One moment, he'd been starting to walk away from the battle with his mother, and the next his father was gripping his elbow to hold him in place as total chaos erupted. He'd watched from his station next to his father as Longbottom had gripped Potter's dead body and apparated away, and then one by one students and old professors, and many different wizards and witches that were fighting for the light got chained up and dragged to a line-up to face their fate. Some had gotten away, but those stupid enough to think they still had a chance had _not_.

Now, nearly two months later, he had pulled himself out of his self-inflicted isolation in one of their old family manors to answer a forceful summons from his father. He was honestly surprised it had taken his old man that long to call him. Draco had made no effort to return to the Manor, and the only human interaction he got nowadays were Blaise, Theo, and his mother. The four of them were playing the role they were destined to. They were _surviving_.

Draco had been to every meeting he was summoned to, but all they had been thus far were taking care of administrative issues such as who would take up what position in the newly cleaned out Wizarding World of England. Draco still hadn't been given an opportunity to redeem himself in the eyes of the Dark Lord, and he was _more _than okay with that.

It was honestly curiosity more than anything else that had caused him to answer his father's summons so quickly. That and possibly boredom.

This is how he found himself sitting in his father's dreary office waiting for the man to make an appearance.

When Lucius swept into the room, Draco was surprised to see his mother glide in gracefully behind him. She gave Draco a look that barely differed from her usual expression, but he knew to mean that he wasn't going to like whatever his father was about to tell him but that it would be best to comply.

His least favorite look.

He'd only gotten it once before at this caliber of intensity, and it had been before his father had been sent to Azkaban and told Draco he would be taking the Dark Mark when he came of age.

Draco sat up in his chair and downed the rest of his Fire-whiskey before daring to look at his father.

That was another thing about his isolation. Fire-whiskey tended to be a good desensitizer to the overwhelming amount of anxiety he felt regarding just _what _had happened following Potter's death.

"Draco," Lucius greeted simply before slowly lowering himself into the seat opposite him in front of the fire. The father and son sat there studying each other in the warm light of the fire. They hadn't seen each other for two months and it was as though they had spoken just five minutes ago. Draco would find time to be bitter about that later.

"Father, I'm assuming you summoned me for a reason other than a juvenile staring contest?" Draco quirked an eyebrow and watched as his father's hands tightened into white-knuckled fists in his lap.

"You'll do well to show me some respect, son. After all, I have just done you a favor."

Draco felt a sick, uneasy feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, but it only showed in his eyes darting to Narcissa's noticeably pale face. When she wouldn't even look at him, he turned back to his father and put a mask of interest on his face.

"And what, pray tell, is this favor?"

Lucius leaned forward and something in his eyes glinted maliciously. "Did you ever wonder what happened to all the mudbloods and blood traitors?"

Draco scoffed and sat back, "Of course not. Why would I?"

That was a blatant lie. The truth was that that very question was one of the demons that fire-whiskey helped chase away. It never worked, of course.

"Well, despite your obvious carelessness in the matter, I have secured you a prominent position in the Choosing."

Every word out of Lucius's mouth made Draco's stomach roil even more violently, and he found himself not wanting to know what that meant at all. His own treacherous thoughts did nothing to stop his father from telling him everything in obscene detail.

"After, they rounded them up like the scum they are, they were sent to Azkaban. Over the last couple of months, they were held there under the watch of the Dementors and a few of our comrades. Those such as the Carrows, Yaxley, and the like, had their fun with them, I'll have you know, but they were kept in good enough health for their physical and mental examinations."

"Physical and mental-"

"Don't interrupt, Draco!"

Draco snapped his mouth shut as his mind whirred. Azkaban with the Dementors was expected, but with Death Eaters as well? Was that really all together necessary? And Draco really did not want to know what his father's definition of _fun _was.

"You see, my boy, after a couple months deliberation, we finally concluded what we shall do with them." Draco's fingers gripped the arm of his chair, and the only thing that kept him from exploding with all his questions, was his mother's gentle touch on his shoulder. "They were examined and sorted by an executive board based on their health and skills, and _I _have secured you with a most _excellent _position in the Choosing."

When his father finally stopped speaking, Draco asked carefully, "What are these purposes? And what exactly is the Choosing?"

Lucius smirked and sat straighter, "There are three possible categories. Slavery, much like that of an elf. Then, how shall I say… hm… _entertainment_. And lastly, if they are unfit for either purpose, they are to remain in Azkaban." Draco fought down the bile that was slowly inching its way up his throat, and had to swallow his argument that all _three _of those options were slavery.

"And the Choosing?" He had a feeling that he knew what this was, but he didn't want it to be true.

"It's where you shall pick your very own mudblood or blood traitor for yourself. I secured a superior position for you."

Draco knew what _secured _meant in his father's world. He'd paid for it. He had just two more questions before he was going to allow himself to disappear back into his very own prison to finish off at least an entire bottle of Ogden's.

"How exactly will they be entertainment?"

His father stood and poured himself his own tumbler before turning back to Draco. "We will be pitting them against each other, reducing them to their truest form of savagery in Wizarding Duels. They will fight for their owner as our champions."

A vein in Draco's temple throbbed, and he couldn't stop the involuntary twitch that sent his head to the side. He was going to be _sick_. One more question. One more, and he'd leave.

"And when is the Choosing?"

Lucius turned his eyes from where he'd been studying the flames with a small smile on his face and gave him a proud grin. "Tomorrow evening, my boy. And I expect you to choose a _champion_."

* * *

Draco was breaking things as soon as he'd stepped out of the floo at what he now deemed his own Manor.

He aimed his wand at anything and everything breakable in his path as he made his way through the extensive and ostentatious home that was really more of a medieval castle. All he had wanted was solitude. Peace. How foolish of him to think that had ever been a possibility for him. When his father's voice began to ring through his ears like some kind of demented echo, he abandoned his wand in favor of kicking furniture over and throwing his old family's precious heirlooms against the stones of the ancient walls.

_Tomorrow evening, my boy._

_I expect you to choose a champion._

"Fuck!"

It wasn't until he made it to his own office and found his stash of Fire-whiskey that he lost momentum and collapsed into his chair.

That was how Blaise and Theo found him.

"I'm assuming you heard then?" Blaise's dry tone was what drew him from his close-eyed stupor where worst case scenarios were playing on repeat in his mind.

"Don't remind me. I'm doing my best to completely forget the entire thing."

"Kind of impossible, mate," Theo mumbled.

Draco peeled his heavy lids open and watched as his only two friends tiptoed around Malfoy's created chaos to collapse on their own chairs. Without prompting, Draco passed the bottle over to Theo before falling back against the chair with a loud sigh.

"He's going to make them kill each other," Draco said quietly. "He's selling them off to the most _vile _people in England, and then he's going to force them to kill their friends. Probably, their family too."

Blaise leaned forward and stared at Draco with a serious expression which wasn't too uncommon on his intense friend's face, but still never failed to make Draco pay even closer attention.

"What are you going to do about it?"

Draco sat up and studied his two friends. Both were watching him carefully, and Draco got the distinct feeling that this was a test. "Father says to choose a champion. Bought me a _superior _position in the Choosing apparently, and I have no _fucking _clue what to do about it."

Theo, not usually one to voice his opinion, surprised Draco when he sat forward so that his elbows were on his knees and said slowly, "I'll tell you what I would do, Draco."

Draco raised his eyebrows and turned to look at Blaise, but his friend was paying close attention to the other. "And what exactly is that, Theo?"

"I would take advantage of that superior position Lucius so kindly paid for to snatch up one of Potter's lackeys. One that has a lot of enemies. One that would be tortured or raped or something _worse _by lesser Death Eaters. And I would use her to get information."

Draco wasn't sure he was following, but one thing did seem to stand out in Theo's speech. "Sounds like you have someone specific in mind."

Theo swallowed thickly, and Draco's eyes darted down to follow his adam's apple before returning to his dark eyes. "That's because I do." If Draco hadn't known the Slytherin since birth, he would've missed the way Theo's eyes darkened and his cheeks took on just a smidgen of color.

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Granger?"

It had taken copious amounts of alcohol and just a scosche of veritaserum for their silent friend to admit his attraction to the bushy haired Gryffindor princess, and Draco had promptly ended the night after that. The last thing he wanted them to find out was that Theo wasn't alone in these feelings.

For once, the topic of Theo's thing for Granger didn't garner snickers and snide comments.

"What kind of information, Theo?"

"Information on Longbottom and everyone else that got away."

The three of them had avoided the topic of their own personal opinions and stances regarding the conclusion of the war, so this was dangerous and new territory that somehow had him more on edge than his conversation with his father.

"And what would you do with that information?" His voice sounded weak even to his own ears, and suddenly Blaise's and Theo's eyes were both beating into him. That same feeling from before about missing something returned full force. Maybe it had just been _him _that had avoided the topic.

"What would _you _do with it, Draco?"

It was Blaise this time that spoke, and it was that fact that solidified his thoughts about being left out of something.

Draco almost responded with the information that had been drilled into him for years, but he stopped himself. One of the benefits, or disadvantages depending on how you looked at it, of isolating yourself for such a long period of time was that you got really comfortable with your own conscience. And Draco, for the first time, had begun to think for himself. The truth was that he didn't _know _what he would do with that information. What he _did _know was that he wasn't sure he wanted to live in a world where it was acceptable to treat humans like lesser beings. Like _slaves. _After quite a few minutes where Theo and Blaise allowed Draco to gather his thoughts, he finally answered the question.

"I suppose I'd find Longbottom."

Draco scowled when both of his friends just continued to stare at him. "And what would you do if you found Longbottom?"

Draco's scowl turned into a fully fledged glare, and he leaned forward to get closer to them. "I wouldn't take the git to _him _if that's what you're thinking."

That must have been the answer they were looking for because they both seemed to release some invisible tension that he hadn't until that moment realized they had been carrying around all summer.

Blaise poured himself more alcohol, and said again with a raised eyebrow, "So, Draco, _what _are you going to do about it?"

* * *

They were being herded like cattle into separate rooms of a non-descript castle. Hermione was focusing completely on maintaining balance in the enormous crowd of both familiar and unfamiliar faces as orders were barked out some distance in front of her.

She watched through her sharp eyes as they seemed to be sorting everybody into four separate rooms, but to the best of her ability, she couldn't find a pattern. When she got to the front she stared into the eyes of the person in front of her as the giant man studied the numbers that had been tattooed on her neck. At the medical examinations, every prisoner had had their hair chopped short. Hermione assumed it had been in some effort to take away their identity, but now she wondered if it was for easier access to the runic numbers. Either way, Hermione now had the chop of a twelve-year-old boy and a tattoo matching that of Sirius Black. The man glanced down at an endless piece of parchment in his hands.

"16-22-9-4… Room one!"

Hermione's eyes didn't leave his until she was yanked by her elbow to the first door on the left, and she was shoved through carelessly. The door shut succinctly behind her and a strict looking elderly witch was standing before her. She waved her wand, and Hermione's shackles disappeared from her wrists and ankles. She barely had time to rub at the irritated and peeling skin before a bundle of black muslin fabric was shoved at her.

"Strip and change."

Hermione considered fighting for just a moment before the clothes were pulled away and a wand was in her face.

"Stupid chit! I said strip!"

Hermione stripped down after only a moment of hesitation and tried to cover her private bits as she stood starkers in the chilly room. Humiliation was starting to become second nature to her.

"Aguamenti!"

Hermione was blasted with a jet of cold water, and she couldn't stop herself from letting out a shriek. Once the spell ended, Hermione was left shivering in front of the amused woman. The black muslin was held out to her again.

"Change."

It wasn't until she had it on that Hermione realized that they had put her in a black sleeveless shift dress that made her look not only destitute, but like she was wearing a potato bag. It wasn't until her mind, without prompting, wandered to why they could possibly be pulling nearly every prisoner from Azkaban out of imprisonment, that she allowed a small shiver of fear to run up her spine.

The only door she hadn't been through slid open right as the door behind her did the same. She had one second to glance at the person behind her, Angelina Johnson, before she was yanked through by her elbow again. Hermione's eyes immediately scanned the much larger room she had been brought to and observed how there were four doors that funneled into it. The people in it were all wearing the exact same muslin dress she'd been put in except in two separate colors. While Hermione and about a quarter of the others in the room donned black, the majority were in a shade of grey similar to the shade seen on their Azkaban uniforms.

She didn't know what was happening, but what she did know was that she was _afraid_.

* * *

Draco spent all night thinking about the question Blaise had asked him, and it wasn't until he was seated in what appeared to be an arena of sorts that he thought he might be somewhere close to an answer. At least he thought maybe his subconscious knew what he was going to do.

The truth was that Draco felt his anxiety in every bone of his body.

He took his spot carefully beside his father and watched as the radial seating of the cavernous room filled completely with every acceptable citizen of the Voldemort run Wizarding world. He didn't know how long he sat there waiting before Voldemort made his entrance and took his seat to the left of the Malfoy's in a raised dais of sorts.

"Welcome, trusted comrades, to the Choosing."

Just as he finished that, some kind of large door slid into the stone ground on the arena floor and everyone present seemed to shift forward in their seats.

"Your wait… is over."

Draco narrowed his eyes as the first prisoner was shoved through the opening before a whole crowd began to slowly filter out. He felt his mother tense beside him at the sight. They were nothing more than skeletons in poorly fitting robes, and it was a disarming sight.

"First, we have our champions!"

Draco ignored the jeers and yells from around him and desperately scanned every face that stepped through. There must have been only about twenty-six of them, and it wasn't until he finally saw _her _that he realized that they had shorn their hair off. She was walking proudly with her shoulders pushed back and her chin in the air. It wasn't until he saw the black lines on her neck that he realized why everyone in the crowd had seemed to bring omnioculars. He understood then that when he claimed her, he was to call out the number they had branded her with. _If _he claimed her.

"And now, for our servants!"

The next crowd of people was much larger and garbed in grey rather than black, but Draco hardly paid any mind because he was too busy studying every champion in front of him. His anxiety grew when he realized he recognized every single one and gone to school with the majority. It seemed they had mostly only deemed the young ones fit to be entertainment.

Voldemort began a speech then that had words such as 'honorable' and 'pure', but Draco paid no mind. Choosing instead to study his choices in front of him.

The Weaslette, Charlie Weasley, Lee Jordan, Michael Corner and Granger seemed to be his best options, but even the most bigoted and hateful Slytherin would've seen that Hermione Granger was the best choice. In fact, he was sure if he didn't pick her his father would grow suspicious.

With that decision in mind, he allowed himself to study just her. The image of her chained, hairless, and tattooed made him nauseous.

It seemed that he had barely been studying her a moment before Voldemort's slithering voice stole his attention.

"And we will begin this most honored ceremony with one of my most loyal followers, young Mr. Malfoy."

Draco had to swallow his surprise at the thought that his father had somehow shelled out enough money and favors to secure first pick. With barely any hesitation he stood and held the omnioculars to his eyes.

He dropped them and said strongly, "I choose 16-22-9-4, my Lord."

He didn't dare look away from her as a path cleared on the steps, and a nameless man grabbed onto her chains to yank her forward. She stumbled, and the crowd erupted into a cacophony of laughter.

"Go forth, and claim your champion."

Draco stepped down the cleared path until he was standing right in front of her. He saw something in her eyes then that he didn't like one bit.

She was _afraid _of him.

He took the chains from the man without breaking eye-contact.

"You are dismissed to do what you will, Mr. Malfoy."

Without further ado, Draco latched onto her elbow and apparated them directly to the grand foyer of his Manor. As soon as they arrived he stepped back like she'd burned him and turned his back to her. He'd allow himself a few moments, just a few, to collect himself from his roiling emotions before he'd turn back to her. He heard her stumble behind him and start dry-heaving from the sound of it. The scraping sound from her chains as she moved seemed to echo and pound against the inside of his skull.

After his allotted time was up, he turned back to her with his comfortable steely mask in place. She was standing a good ten or so feet away from him with her back pressed to the wall.

"Listen, well, Granger. You can't escape, so don't bother. I have prepared a room for you, and Lopsy is to see to your every need. I haven't had the time to go and fetch you some clothes because I just found out about this whole mess last night." He paused to take a breath and call for his elf before he focused more closely on her owlish expression, "And _please_, just stop looking at me like I am worse than Azkaban."

Lopsy showed up with a pop, and Draco reluctantly tore his gaze from Granger.

"Master has called for me?" The elf smiled pleasantly before turning towards Hermione and clapping her hands. "Oh! Missy is here!"

"Yes, Lopsy. She's here." He sighed and ran a hand over his face before saying, "Now, are her rooms ready?"

"Master, I have prepared the one in your wing. Just as yous asks of me!"

"Very well, Lopsy. Perhaps you could prepare some soup for her." Draco turned to Hermione and looked her up and down in a clinical fashion. "Something light but nutritional, we need to get her strength up before… well…" he struggled for the right phrasing for just _what _she would be needing her strength for before settling simply on, "_before_."

"Lopsy wills get right on that. Yes she will!"

Then she was gone with another pop. It wasn't until Draco gestured for her to follow that he realized she hadn't spoken a single word. She didn't move even a millimeter closer to him.

"Come on, Granger," he growled out. "I _refuse _to drag you." When she still didn't move, he waved his wand to vanish the chains and ignored the shocked expression she sent his way. "_Now_, will you come?"

She hesitated for just a moment before she took one tentative step towards him. Then a few seconds later, another one. He watched as she made the decision whether he was a threat or not before finally she was standing beside him. He thought this might be the first time they had ever willingly stood beside each other.

"There's a good girl."

He paused, anticipating a self righteous quip, but the silence continued to reign.

"Right then."

He started walking again and subconsciously slowed his pace to accommodate for her lethargic one.

After he had simply vanished everything he broke the night before rather than repairing it, the Manor was left feeling extremely empty, and this became painfully obvious to him as he led his 'prisoner' through the maze of barren rooms until they reached the stairs. She was breathing hard by then, but he made up his mind not to slow anymore or help her as he continued on his way. It seemed like a lifetime of echoing silence and pained breathing before he finally stood before the room he had chosen for her.

Now, standing just a few feet away from the door to his own rooms, he questioned for the first time his own judgement on picking a suite so close to his own.

He sighed before reaching for the latch and swinging the door open.

He'd paid close attention to making sure the rooms would be comfortable for whoever he brought for a good amount of the day. He imagined anyone that spent a couple months with Death Eater's and Dementors wouldn't be hard to please, and he was still unwilling to admit to himself the severe amount of pity he felt for anyone who had suffered so.

He stood to the side awkwardly as the girl slowly shuffled into the room and glanced around. It was large and fully furnished with a soft purple comforter and tons of expensive and plush cream pillows. He almost blushed when he realized that him and Lopsy had both seemed to prepare for a girl without realizing it.

"I realize this is the nicest you've probably had, so try not to faint."

She hardly acknowledged him as she studied the room with wide eyes. Hermione Granger's face was like an open book, and for the first time since he met her, he allowed himself to scrutinize it free of ill will.

He was correct in his thought that they were merely skeletons in poorly fitted robes earlier. The cheap fabric dress they had her in swallowed her so completely that the neckline was falling off the edge of her shoulders, and the entire thing dropped to just above her knees. Everywhere her skin showed, her bones stuck out so painfully, that he was scared if he poked her, they would break. Without her hair, her sallow cheeks and protruding cheek bones were made that much more obvious, and she had somehow grown even more pale than him. This shadow, this _ghost, _wasn't Hermione Granger.

"Why?" Her hoarse but strong voice brought him out of his revery, and he blinked dumbly back at her.

"What?"

Her warm brown eyes turned to him. "Why?" She asked sharply.

"If you're asking why this is the best you've ever had, my answer would be that it's probably because your muggle parents were assumably destitute." A flash of something resembling the old her showed in her eyes for just a moment before it was gone again. He continued, "If you're asking instead why I picked you at all, I would have to tell you that I refuse to answer that question."

When she kept on studying him with an inquisitive expression, he couldn't stop himself from spewing the next words to leave his mouth.

"It could be because I wanted a champion who could win the duels the Dark Lord is about to start ordering. It also could be because I saw you standing there all sickly and weak, and I reluctantly found myself pitying you most of all. Or it could be because I'm bored, and I thought torturing you would alleviate that particular ailment."

He paused for a breath, and she turned her eyes pointedly to the bed.

Neither of them pointed out that if he had intended to torture her, she would be in the dungeons at the base of the Manor rather than set up in a more than comfortable room without shackles or anything else remotely evil.

She flinched violently when Lopsy's loud pop sounded through the room.

The small elf was standing in front of Hermione with imploring eyes and a steaming bowl of broth held out in between her bony fingers.

He watched Granger's fingers tremble as she took the bowl from her hands.

"Thank you… Lopsy, was it?"

Lopsy nodded and folded her ears against the side of her head shyly. "You is most welcome, Missy." The elf turned to Draco then, "Is there anything else, Master Malfoy?"

"No that's quite alright, Lopsy."

Once the elf disappeared, Hermione stared questioningly at him from behind her gigantic bowl. He supposed his presence made her uncomfortable, and he observed her tense shoulders and distrusting expression with a frown. He'd earned it, that was sure, but he'd never before felt so negatively about her reactions to him.

He walked over to the fireplace across the room and immediately conjured a warm fire. He made sure to keep his back to her for a considerable amount of time, so that she would understand that even though she refused to trust him, he was placing his trust in her. After he'd transfigured a pillow into a small table for her and placed it in front of the deep purple sofa, he turned and walked back up to her.

He simply stood in front of her for a moment before reaching out for the bowl.

"May I?"

His hands hovered just a few inches from the porcelain, and he watched with bated breath as she seemed to have an internal debate. Her teeth came out and bit into her chapped bottom lit so tightly he was worried she would bite right through. After a few seconds, she held it just a little closer, and he took it from her hands. He walked it back to the table he'd conjured and set it carefully down next to a set of utensils.

"There are some of my old clothes in the bathroom next to the tub. Do you want me to run a bath for you?" He eyed her shivering form as she slowly placed herself on the very edge of the cushions. "Might warm you up before you go to bed. I know it's still rather early, but I can't imagine the sleeping conditions in Azkaban were very conducive to a well-rested night." She leaned forward and sniffed the soup. "If you don't like the soup, I can have Lopsy fix you something else. Don't think you're being a bother. I have a feeling she's glad there's someone besides me to take care of now." She lifted the spoon with shaking fingers before pausing with the broth inches from her lips.

"Did you poison it?"

He felt white hot anger coarse through him at that question. Hadn't he been hospitable? What reason had he given her to think he'd kill her?

"Of course not! What do you think of me?"

When she turned her head slowly and quirked a brow at him, he sighed. With jerky movements, he stepped forward and snatched the spoon from her hand. He watched her through narrowed eyes as he made a show of filling the spoon with the steaming broth and taking it into his own mouth. He then made a point to swallow deeply and open his mouth wide to prove it was gone.

He grabbed her hand rather harshly and wrapped her fingers tightly around the spoon.

"See! It's _not _poisoned. Now eat all of it, take a bath, and then go to bed."

It wasn't until he had stormed from the room, and walked the few feet to his own that he realized that her paranoia was completely justified.

Dear, Salazar. How was he supposed to do this.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this first installment. **

**Let me know what you thought!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: WHOO! Chapter two already! For those following my other stories, just now I haven't given up on those in light of this one! I just love alternating what stories I'm working on to avoid getting stuck in the monotony of writing the same one!**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Draco was woken up in the middle of the night by Lopsy pushing on the edge of the mattress to shake the bed.

"Master! Master!" Draco flew up, and practically fell out of bed. The panic over his usually timid's elf's shrill voice was immediate and overwhelming.

"What! What is it!"

"Something is wrong with the Missy!"

Draco allowed the elf to latch onto the fabric of his pants as they ran down the hall to Hermione's room. When he slammed the door open, his eyes immediately traveled to the bed. The comforter had been removed, but his gaze was pulled from it when Lopsy yanked on his pant leg again. He followed her wrinkled finger to the sitting area, and he saw the comforter piled directly in front of the fire. He could just barely see the top of Hermione's head poking out the top.

The closer he got, the more apparent her violent tremors were. When he finally reached her, he dropped to his knees and gently pulled the covers back. She was scarily pale, and her breathing was labored.

She was sick that much was obvious, and one touch of his palm to her forehead had him panicking. She was burning up. What if she died on him? What would his father say?

"Lopsy, go to Blaise and Theo. Tell them it's urgent!"

Draco watched as her eyes seemed to dart from side to side under her eyelids. He knew if he called for their family healer, they wouldn't get the best care due to her blood status. He also knew that if he called for his mother, his father would start to ask questions, and one thing he absolutely didn't want was Lucius paying visits to _his_ Manor.

Draco pulled her from the comforter to possibly move her to the bed right as Theo slid into the room.

When Draco saw that she was still wearing the obscenely thin dress, he cursed under his breath. "Stubborn lion," he growled.

Theo was beside him on the ground now. "What's wrong with her?" His voice was hoarse like Draco had woken him up, and Draco glanced to see he was still in his pajamas.

"I don't know. That's why I called you guys over."

Draco reached under her to lift her and carry her to the bed.

"Merlin, she weighs nothing," he said mostly to himself, but he could see Theo studying her form from the corner of his eyes.

"I hardly recognize her."

Draco grunted in response, and he felt Granger shift in his arms. Her eyes flew open, and she jerked so harshly in his arms that he almost dropped her.

"No!" She cried out, and Draco cursed when his balance was thrown off, so that he fell to his knees in the middle of the room.

"Stop being so fucking stubborn! I'm not going to hurt you!"

She pushed herself from his arms in a moment of surprising strength and crawled away from the two wide eyed Slytherins until her spine was pressed against the back of the bed. Her eyes landed on Theo, and they both watched as she held her arms protectively over her torso to stop the huge garment from slipping off her body. Draco held his hands up as a sign of surrender, and her eyes flicked to him. There was something distinctly unhinged about the witch in front of them.

"Granger, you're sick," he said carefully.

Blaise chose that moment to come flying through the room which only sent her scrambling even further away from them until she was wedged in the corner between the bedside table and bed frame.

"What did you do to her?" Blaise asked dryly.

"Nothing!" Draco hissed.

"Well, obviously you did something, or she wouldn't be so bloody scared of you."

"Blaise, I bet she would react the same if she belonged to you!"

All their heads snapped back to her when she said hotly, "I don't belong to anyone!"

Draco sneered at her, "On the contrary, Granger. My father paid a hefty sum to make you my property."

Angry tears filled her eyes, and she pointed a shaky finger at him, "I am _not _property. Let alone, property of some foul, loathsome _ferret_ like you!"

Draco growled as he jumped to his feet and went to step closer to her, but Theo placed a hand on his chest to halt his progress. When Theo went to step closer, she spread her hand wide in panic and shrunk impossibly further into the table.

"Don't come any nearer!"

Draco glared at her over Theo's shoulder, "What are you going to do about it, Granger? It's not like you have a wand. You can barely stand on your own!"

"Shut up, Draco," Theo said under his breath before dropping into a crouch just a few feet away from her toes. "Hermione…" he said quietly, and her eyes widened in surprise at the use of her first name. "We are trying to help you." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Draco, "Even this git over here."

"Watch it, Theo," Draco hissed, but he ignored him.

"You're very sick. You need potions and warm clothes, and you getting worked up over Draco isn't going to help."

"Don't patronize me, Theodore Nott," she said half-heartedly, but all three of them could see that she was relaxing slightly. Theo smirked at her.

"I'm not patronizing you. I'm just trying to help."

She tensed again and bared her teeth at him. "If you want to _help_, you'll let me go!"

Blaise finally stepped forward and gave her a look that couldn't be seen as anything but pitying. "You know we can't do that, Granger."

The anger then turned into a kind of grief that Draco wasn't altogether familiar with. "Why not?" she asked in a thick voice.

"Because if we do that, we'll all die," Blaise said emotionlessly. Draco was surprised when he saw acceptance pass over her face. "But if you let us help you, I'll do something for you."

Her watery eyes shot up to him in interest, but her voice sounded hopeless when she asked, "What could you possibly do for me, Zabini?"

Blaise crouched down beside Theo, and he asked in an uncharacteristically soft tone, "Do you miss Ginny Weasley?"

Almost instantly she melted and covered her mouth to hold in what Draco presumed was a sob, "Gin- Ginny? She's okay?"

Blaise nodded. "She's at my manor."

Theo cleared his throat. "If you let us get you healthy, you'll get to see her."

Hermione's head jerked, and she hiccuped. "Who do you have?" She directed at Theo.

"Corner," he said simply.

Hermione almost smiled, "_Oh_, Michael."

In a moment, the hint of a smile was gone, and Hermione's unashamed sobs were echoing in the cavernous room.

"Lopsy!" Draco called.

The elf showed up behind him, but actually ran through his legs to get to Hermione. Her tiny hands stole one of Hermione's away from where it had been clutching at the neckline of her dress and held it reverently between her own. Draco's eyes darter to wear the strap fell down her bony shoulder for just a moment before he forced his eyes back to her violently red face.

"Missy is feeling better?"

Draco rolled his eyes. Leave it to Granger to totally enamor his house elf after knowing her for less than a day. "Lopsy, I need you to bring us the Pepper-up, Nourishing, and Dreamless Sleeping Draught vials I have in the lab," he said tiredly.

Lopsy turned a glare at him over his shoulder before turning back to Hermione. "Does Missy need anything from Lopsy?" Draco balked and tried to ignore his two snickering friends below him.

Hermione looked flustered as she released her own cheek to pat one of Lopsy's hands, "Just the Pepper-up and Nourishing Potions, please." Draco watched Granger's trembling fingers as they grabbed onto her second slipping strap and aggressively pulled it all the way up to the crook of her neck.

"Granger, the draught will help with your-" Draco started, but she interrupted him.

"No!"

"Granger," he growled out, but she shook her head soundly.

"I will not take that potion. It's addictive, and I don't need it."

He scowled. "I can't imagine anyone getting out of Azkaban for two months and _not_ needing Dreamless Sleep. Get over your damn _pride_."

"I _don't _need it," she challenged.

"Fine_._ Enjoy your nightmares then for all I care!"

Draco stepped away and stormed to the bathroom to snatch the flannel pajamas he'd laid out for her the day before. He had to consciously take deep breaths to soothe his uncontrollable temper, and it took him nearly a minute to get it down to where it was simmering just below the surface.

When he stepped back into the room it was to Blaise having a hushed conversation with Lopsy, and Theo helping Hermione so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. He walked up to her and held out the bundle of clothes for her to take.

"Granger, you need to put these on."

Instead of Granger, Theo took them from his hands, and Draco had to resist the urge to snatch them back from his friend.

Hermione tried to get them to leave the room as she changed, but the best she could do was get them to turn their backs to her. When they turned back around it was to the sight of the pajamas swallowing her completely up and her glaring daggers at the dress she'd been in where she had tossed it on the ground. Draco wasted no time in picking it up from the ground and marching it across the room to throw it in the fire.

When he got back to her, he'd brought the thick comforter with him, and he let her watch as he cast a few warming charms on it.

Theo and Blaise watched in amusement as Draco took a tiny sip of every potion before handing it to her.

"She bloody thought I was poisoning her earlier," he grumbled as she completely ignored their presence to burrow into the mountain of pillows and blankets Theo and Blaise had gathered for her. It wasn't until a few minutes later when her labored breathing evened, and Lopsy promised to keep watch, that they finally stepped out of her room. Draco made sure to leave the door open just a couple inches before they all three made their way into his own room.

They sat in silence with their customary bottle of Fire-Whiskey for a few minutes before Draco finally spoke, "She is easily the most stubborn witch I have ever met."

Blaise sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Weasley was pretty much the same. I think it's a Gryffindor thing. Although, she isn't nearly as sick or skinny as Granger."

Theo took a gulp from the bottle before saying, "Well, Weasley wasn't on the run for nearly a year before being sent to Azkaban."

Blaise's mouth slowly morphed into a wicked smirk, "Kept tabs on her, Theo?"

Theo scowled and let his head fall back against the chair, "I'm pretty sure everyone in the Wizarding world knew she was on the run with her two merry idiots, you prat."

Draco's head quirked to the side when a thought hit him, "I know Potter is dead, but where's Weasley?"

Theo merely shrugged, but Blaise said quietly, "Think he got away, but I'm not sure. His mum was trying to get to all of her children as they started rounding them up. She clearly missed two though."

Silence took over again, and Draco narrowed his eyes on Theo, "Why Corner?"

Draco watched as Theo and Blaise shared a look before Theo shrugged heavily. "Seemed like the best option at the time."

Theo scowled after a moment and added, "Already find myself regretting it though. Bloody curious, that one. Couldn't get him to stop asking about Granger and everyone else. 'I know you're friends with Malfoy and Zabini. Just tell me they're okay,' he kept saying. Asked after Chang and Boot as well."

"Like Cho Chang?"

Theo nodded and his mouth turned down into a heavy frown. "They were all in Ravenclaw together. I feel bad for that one. Got bought by one of the Lestrange brothers. Who knows what's happening to her."

"What about Boot?"

"Daphne's got him."

"Daphne Greengrass?" Draco asked in shock.

Blaise nodded and eyed Draco warily.

"Didn't realize she'd be interested in buying someone. Doesn't seem like the type to be interested in _entertainment _of this sort."

Draco, for the first time since the war technically ended, found himself wondering about every muggleborn and blood-traitor.

"Who got the older Weasley?"

"Pucey."

Draco quirked his head to the side. "He also doesn't seem like the type. What others do you know of?"

Blaise sighed and rubbed at his temples. "I stayed for the entire Choosing, so I know about everyone. Lovegood went to Astoria, Dean Thomas got stuck with Macnair, Cassius Warrington chose Angelina Johnson, I believe Katie Bell went to Montague, Milicent got Zacharias Smith, Tracey Davis even got one of the Patil twins."

"Tracey Davis?" Draco asked in barely restrained surprise.

Blaise nodded. "That's about all I remember to be honest."

Draco frowned heavily. Something didn't seem quite right about all of this. Nearly everyone Blaise mentioned didn't seem like the type to spend the money on something like a good position in this hoax despite the fact that they all could afford it. Even more concerning was the fact that all of them had bought prisoners that had been categorized as 'champions'. Draco, not ready to voice these thoughts, stood up and set the bottle that had made its way back to him on the mantel.

"I'm exhausted," he said dryly.

It was a clear dismissal, and for once, no clever quips met his ears.

* * *

It took three days for her fever to break, and Hermione hadn't spoken a single word to Draco that entire time.

She thought that maybe his words had been carved permanently into her soul.

_My father paid a hefty sum to make you my property. _

That's what she amounted to now. Property. _Draco Malfoy's _property.

To make matters even worse, he kept alluding to this big _purpose_ that she would need her strength for, but he was yet to explain it to her completely. All she knew was that Voldemort had pulled them from Azkaban for a reason.

She spent all the time she wasn't sleeping, trying to figure out what the colors of their dresses had meant. Voldemort had introduced them as champions, but champions of _what _was what she was unsure of. When Malfoy had called out her number, Voldemort had said to go forth and claim his champion. The best guess she could think of was that Hermione would be fighting for him in some capacity.

Blaise and Theo had come back a few times in the past few days, and everytime Hermione found herself at least relaxing slightly. Something was much less disconcerting about the presence of Draco's two friends, and she thought it might have to do with how they were much less cruel to her in school than Malfoy had been. After much thought, she really couldn't think of a single instance when either of the two had called her a mudblood.

The fact that _that _was the main qualifier for who she preferred to spend her time with nowadays really spoke a lot about her situation.

When she wasn't wallowing in her own situation, she spent a lot of time thinking about Ron and Harry.

The moments before she was chained and dragged to kneel before Voldemort, happened faster than any moments in her life, but she remembered it all in great detail. She'd used those moments to maintain her sanity in the desperate atmosphere of Azkaban. Those last few moments of freedom were all she had to go on for the whereabouts of everyone she'd cared for in the Wizarding world, and though it was really just about a minute in a half, it was a minute and a half where she didn't see anything concrete enough _not_ to hope that they were all alive.

All _except _Harry.

The problem was that the hope that those memories created was what Dementors fed on, so when she could feel their cold and dark presence drawing near, all she had to do was think about Harry. It _hurt_, but the hopelessness that his prone form had caused stopped the Dementors from taking away those ninety seconds of hope. Those ninety seconds were precious, and they were just about all she had.

People that she hadn't seen in that ceremony just a few days prior that she hoped had gotten away were Neville, George, Molly, Arthur, McGonnogal, Ron, Bill, Fleur, and quite a few others. It was thinking about those people that brought her hope, and she used their memories to fight away her demons in Malfoy's terrifyingly comfortable prison.

She was yet to leave her room which is exactly where she found herself now. Malfoy had bought her clothes, but the idea of wearing anything that the git had picked out for her had her even more uncomfortable than the fact that she hadn't changed out of his old pair of pajamas for three days.

"What has you thinking so hard?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice, but otherwise ignored him.

He let out a painfully dramatic sigh before coming to stand right in front of her so that her blank eyes were focused on the bottom button of his shirt rather than the flickering flames of the fire.

"What's it going to take to get you to speak to me?"

She blinked.

"Would you like a tour of the Manor? I'm bored, and I thought riling you up might be sufficient entertainment."

A blush to indicate her frustration.

"Excellent. Come along then."

Instead of waiting for her to follow, he reached down and wrapped his long spindly fingers around her wrist to pull her up. She immediately started fighting him, but she froze when the next words left his mouth.

"If you _behave_, I might just give you free run of my library."

_Library. Books._

Her eyes left his waist and slowly inched up to his own silvery ones only to see him smirking with a quirked brow like she had just walked into a trap. She considered, just for a moment, giving up the possibility of books in favor of maintaining her pride, but it had been _so _long since she'd been allowed to just roam a library. A simple liberty that she had taken for granted her six years at Hogwarts.

"I knew that would get you," he said smugly.

She pulled her wrist from him before waving a hand to indicate for him to keep on walking.

After an hour of walking around and him giving her the most detailed descriptions of every memory he had in the extensive castle, they finally made it to a set of double doors that he paused in front of. For the first time in the past hour, he was completely silent. She didn't know how long they stood there, but she spent that time studying his expression. He seemed anxious about something, but Hermione had learned in her silence that he was very good at hiding his true feelings. Unless it was anger. Anger seemed to be the only real emotion he let show.

After what had to have been at least a few minutes of this, she reached forward and yanked on the sleeve of his shirt. She was expecting his anger, but what she got instead was a blank expression. When he finally spoke his words held a kind of gravity that sent goosebumps racing across her arms.

"Perhaps, you should read all the books on Wizarding Duels, Granger. Brush up."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion, but he ignored her and finally opened the doors.

She nearly passed out.

The library was larger than even the library at Grimmauld Place. Momentarily forgetting his odd comment, she stepped around him in wonder.

She vaguely registered him saying, "I'll leave you to it," before he disappeared back the way they came.

She decided to leave her problems outside of the library at that moment. This would be her sanctuary, and any negative feelings or fears were never to enter through the threshold. Once she was sure Draco was gone, she breathed a sigh of relief and let all the tension she'd been holding for over a year dissolve from her body.

In the library, she wouldn't be Hermione Granger.

* * *

Draco was in his office contemplating how he was going to tell Hermione that she would be fighting her friends for the pleasure of her greatest enemies when someone stepped through the floo of his fireplace. He didn't even look up from where he was staring blankly at the grain of his desk when he heard the gentle taps of his mother's fashionable heels stop in front of him somewhere. After a few moments where Draco basked in the ephemeral silence and his mother studied his sleep deprived features, Narcissa finally took a seat.

"Offer me tea, Draco," she said strongly. It took him nearly eighteen years to find out that his mother was strong, but he knew it now without a doubt. There was something decidedly enviable about his mother's firmness. Draco didn't know when his role model made the terrifying leap from his father to his mother, but he had his suspicions it might have been the moment his mother had tried to pull him away from Voldemort and _the end_ right before his father had forced him to stay. There was a lot to be said about the strength of will it took to stand by a man who would sacrifice you barbarically for glory or pride or some other misguided notion. Draco was still getting accustomed to his newfound animosity towards Lucius.

Draco's eyes flicked up to her porcelain features, and he raised a challenging eyebrow. For a moment, they simply stared at each other before Draco bent to her will as he supposed he always would.

Just a couple of minutes later they were sitting down to an informal tea on the black velvet sofa in his office. He sipped his tea with a distinct amount of bitterness as his desire for something stronger rose with every tick of the grandfather clock on the opposite wall. He had finished an entire cup full before she finally asked the question he was sure had been sitting on the tip of her tongue since the moment she had gracefully stepped through the floo.

"How is she?"

Her voice held a practiced air of nonchalance, but he had spent his entire life meticulously sorting and picking apart her masked tones. At this moment, she was _very _curious, and if his mind wasn't betraying him, slightly anxious.

Draco thought about the question for a minute before giving a cautious and vague answer that he knew wouldn't even remotely quench her thirst for information.

"She is as well as you would expect."

His mother set the tea-cup down slightly, just _slightly_, louder than she normally would and laced her fingers delicately in her lap. "How is her health?" A hint of annoyance this time. Deciding that the wiser course of action at the moment was to humor her, he spoke truthfully.

"She doesn't eat. She doesn't sleep. She sometimes spits out her potions depending on her level of rage towards me at the moment. The only person she'll talk to is Lopsy and occasionally Theo."

"Theodore Nott?" She asked with a quirked brow.

Draco felt that familiar twinge of astringency at the thought of Granger's odd willingness to trust his friend over him, but he shoved that far into the dusty corners of his mind. He locked it away with all other unthinkable feelings that surfaced in relation to the fiery girl that had somehow ended up being his _property_.

"Yes. Apparently, he is easier to trust than I am," he said with as little bitterness as he could manage.

His mother hummed in acknowledgement. "Lucius would like to know-"

"I don't much care what father would like to know," he interrupted harshly.

Narcissa tsked before continuing, "Your _father _would like to know if she will be prepared when the duels are set to begin."

The reminder that Lucius was his father was most unwanted. His familial loyalty and obligation still just barely managed to trump his half-formed resentment, but in truth, he didn't know how he was supposed to answer that question. Let alone do what the man was demanding of him. How do you prepare the most noble and righteous person you know to do something so disgustingly cruel? He was painfully aware of the fact that should their roles be reversed, the light side would _never_ force them to do this. Azkaban for sure, but _this…_ never. It had taken a summer of Blaise's coaching and Theo's subtle nudges for him to realize that the best way to distinguish right from wrong was to reverse the roles. Now Draco lived in a world consisting of shades of grey, and it was endlessly frustrating.

How would Draco prepare himself to duel Theo or Blaise or Pansy or anyone else he cared about to the death for the entertainment of all those on the other side? He _would _do it. To survive. But that was another thing that widened the chasm filled with violent waves and jagged rocks between Granger and himself. She would rather maintain her morals and _love _than survive. To change that about her would be to untie the strings and knots and twines that held her very being together, and though part of him knew it intrinsically, he still hadn't fully admitted to himself that he didn't want to do that.

This put him in an aggravating and altogether perilous position.

When he finally spoke, his voice conveyed all the anger and unsureness that he had been feeling the past four days.

"She will _never _be prepared, Mother. You know that as well as I do."

He couldn't keep the caustic tone in his voice at bay if he tried.

His mother sighed and set her delicate tea cup on the table. For the first time since they sat down, Draco tore his eyes away from the archaic stones of the wall to study her. She looked just as she always did. Beautiful and pristine and completely in control. But with careful eyes he noticed that single strand of blonde hair on the hem of her robes, and the almost indistinguishable wrinkle set just at the center between her brows.

"I will tell your father that she is adjusting well."

A lie, they both knew, but was a lie considered immoral if it saved those involved from the wrath of an unhinged man? Draco guessed that Hermione would say yes. He then promptly cursed himself for thinking about how Granger would feel at all.

Draco's eyes turned to the stone again, and he watched as the firelight danced across it.

"Was there anything else?" He asked shortly.

His mother stood and quietly brushed down her skirt. "That'll be all for now, dear."

In a rare moment of tenderness, his mother reached over and gently brushed his unruly hair from his eyes. Unruly for the Malfoy's wasn't anywhere near what unruly meant for Granger. Thinking this way made him think about how some brute had tied her down and shorn her riotous curls, and the astringency crept out of its lonely corner again.

Granger hadn't told him that he'd tied her down, of course, but he'd learned through Blaise who'd learned through the far more loose-lipped Weasley girl. Blaise told him that they only tied them down if they fought, and he was sure there was no world in which Granger wouldn't fight something so _completely_ degrading. The girl practically had _fighter_ tattooed across her forehead.

Draco reached up and gently took his mother's hand to give her a reassuring squeeze.

A whole conversation was conveyed in those two gestures.

From his mother: _I love you. I worry for you. _

From him: _I appreciate you. I worry too. I'm fine._

Draco couldn't mask his surprise when his mother actually spoke, "Remember that she's just a girl, remember what is being asked of her, and remember what _I_ taught you."

She left immediately following that, and he was left trying to figure out what her cryptic advice had meant. Teaching had always been his father's job, and he'd always done it succinctly and harshly. So what exactly _had_ his mother taught him?

Hours later, after Draco had drained a whole bottle of liquor by himself, he silently made the journey to the library.

He wasn't surprised when he saw that Granger hadn't left yet, but he was surprised to find her peacefully sleeping in his favorite armchair. He froze just a few feet away from her.

Her whole body was curled up so that no part of her touched the floor, and she had a book propped open on her knobby knees. When he slowly picked the book off of her, the corners of his lips twitched at the title.

_The Secret Love of a Werewolf._

Who knew Granger enjoyed steamy romance novels?

His eyes darted to her face to see that her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire, and her lips were set into a soft pout. He realized then that Granger looked undeniably pretty in her sleep despite her uneven boyish haircut. For a moment, he let his drunken haze take him down a path where blood wasn't important and there was no war and Hermione Granger was just a girl that he'd met at school. Would it have taken him over seven years to admit she was beautiful then?

He sighed to himself and shook the haze away.

Bed. Right.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached down and pulled her up into his arms just like he'd done four nights ago in her room. He spent the whole journey to her rooms using his Occlumency skills to clear his mind of every useless wondering and thought that had forced its way to the forefront in the library, and he was so distracted by this that he didn't notice when her eyes blinked open dazedly.

* * *

Hermione woke up the moment the weight of her novel left her knees, but she didn't open her eyes until a minute after she'd been lifted.

She wanted to react the way she had reacted before, but there was something about his face that had her consciously stopping her near immediate reaction. His pale cheeks were a light pink, and for the first time since she had come to stay with him, his expression was left unguarded. He was focused and thinking very hard about something, but there was something missing from his face that she had learned early on to always associate with him. It was void of the cruelty and malice that all Death Eaters bore. Even more than that, he was actually carrying her back to her rooms. He could've left her. Or kicked her awake. Or possibly levitated her.

But he wasn't doing _any _of that. He had lowered himself to carrying her back to her bed, and this was somehow different than it had been before because him and her both knew that she was more than capable of walking herself there this time. It was a considerate and honestly intimate gesture that she would expect from Harry or possibly Ron on a good day, but from _him_ it left her with this uncomfortable and contradictory gratitude sitting heavily in her chest.

It was with these conflicting feelings that she resigned herself to shutting her eyes tightly before they got to her rooms, so as to not disturb the stagnant and almost peaceful air that had settled between the two of them in that rare moment. She allowed him to slowly lower her into the undeniably comfortable bed, and didn't even flinch when he slowly pulled the covers out from under her to tuck her in like she was a child and he cared for her. The confusion over the moment only seemed to intensify when he didn't immediately step away from her bed, but instead hovered by the edge. She could almost feel his gaze sweeping over her for the minute he stood, and she had to hold in a sigh of her own when he released one before taking nearly silent steps to exit her room. She didn't dare release the breath she was holding until a good thirty seconds after the door creaked to the place just a couple inches from the jam that she always found it sitting at in the morning.

She realized something both comforting and completely unsettling in the moments of eerie silence that followed his departure.

Draco Malfoy did _not _want to hurt her.

If he did, he would've done so in those moments where she was most vulnerable. In the moments where she lay limp in the arms of someone who was supposed to be the enemy. He wouldn't have been so careful in his efforts not to wake her, or so gentle in the way he made sure she was so completely encompassed by the fluffy comforter.

The next morning neither of them acknowledged how she had wound up in her bed, and Hermione still didn't speak to him. When he brought her a tray of food with two vials of potions in the corner, she studiously ignored his shocked expression as she downed both of them and picked up her fork to start eating.

Her mother's voice spoke to her then in a moment of reluctant clarity.

_Don't bite the hand that feeds you, Hermione_.

Refusing food and potions was illogical and prideful, and Hermione decided in that moment that she was done with it. But that still didn't mean that she trusted him.

No.

Trust had to be earned, and she'd be damned if she allowed Draco Malfoy to blindside her. It was with this sheer and fortified determination that she continued her silence.

* * *

Draco felt heavy as he made his way to the kitchens for breakfast.

The Daily Prophet in his hands felt like it was coated in violent acid that burned his flesh, but he refused to set it down. It had been a week since Granger had come to occupy the room down the hall, and he still hadn't told her what she would have to do. For the past seven days, the weight of that information had been considerably lighter than the other worries and frustrations weighing on his mind, but it now felt as though it was bearing down so heavily on him that he might collapse.

Salazar, she was going to _hate _him impossibly more than she did.

He was preparing himself to read the entirety of the hate-filled article when he stepped into the kitchens, but what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. Granger was wearing a grey pair of trousers and a soft blue blouse that he had bought for her and not the pajamas that she had refused to change out of. Her back was to him, and despite the fact that he had bought a size that he thought might be the proper one, the blouses neckline fell down so that the sharp points of her shoulderblades were sticking out painfully and the top vertebrates of her spine were violently apparent. On top of the shock factor from her wearing _real _clothes, she was bent over a pan with a spatula in her hand. Lopsy was standing on the counter beside the stove pointing and instructing as Hermione flipped what appeared to be a pancake.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline when she let out a joyous laugh at what must have been a perfect flip. His guess was confirmed when his elf hopped up on her toes and clapped.

"Very good, Missy!"

Draco saw just the side of her face as Hermione turned a radiant smile on the elf and said softly, "Thank you, Lopsy."

He was planning on stepping out of the room completely and silently to find somewhere to hide until Hermione made her typical retreat into his library, but Lopsy's big eyes landed on him.

"Oh! Master Draco! Is you wanting pancakes? Missy is making the most beautiful pancakes!"

Draco turned his eyes to Hermione as she stiffened, but she kept her back firmly facing him. He didn't get a chance to answer before Lopsy had popped right in front of him and started yanking him by the hem of his trousers to the small table that he typically ate his own solitary meals at. Seconds later, she was doing the same to Hermione and taking over cooking breakfast. He watched out of his peripheral as Granger settled stiffly directly across from him on the very edge of the only other chair at the small table.

"I will make you both breakfast!" Lopsy said excitedly.

Draco's fingers tensed until the paper in front of him crinkled, and he felt Hermione's scrutinizing gaze land on the bold headline.

He didn't have time to pull it away before her sharp eyes had surely finished it because a soft gasp met his ears.

_FIRST DUEL ANNOUNCED: HERMIONE GRANGER VS ZACHARIAS SMITH_

There was no getting out of it now. His cowardly game of avoid and forget was over, and he _had _to tell her what she was going to have to do. He looked up at her eyes and watched as the information seemed to roll over in her mind. A few moments later, she looked up at him with steel in her eyes, and he knew what he had to do. Slowly, he began to read the article out loud in the most deadpan, uncaring voice he could manage.

"_Our gracious Dark Lord has announced the beginning of what has become known as the Wizarding Games. Potter's favorite mudblood, Hermione Granger, is to be pitted against blood-traitor, Zacharias Smith, in what is sure to be an entertaining fight. Millicent Bulstrode and Draco Malfoy's champions will be fighting until their probable deaths in just three weeks time at the Grounds of Salazar. Tickets to spectate will go on sale in a week, and you will not want to miss it!"_

He had to stop when a distinctly nauseous feeling crept up his throat. He made sure every feeling was hidden in his expression before he looked up at Granger.

She was flushed in rage, and the ribs that showed through on her chest were expanding rapidly with her harsh breaths. Lopsy's soft cries could be heard from the kitchen.

"Do you see now why I need you to get your strength back? Do you see now how _stupid_ you've been?"

He had had good intentions in what he said, but as usual, his delivery had come out much harsher than he had intended. In a moment of frustration at both what he had read, and his own brashness, he threw the paper across the table until it landed right in front of her and stood from his seat so suddenly that the chair tipped back and crashed to the ground.

His chest heaved as he stared determinately into Granger's eyes that were somehow conveying complete rage and utter devastation at the same time.

"Do you _see _now, Granger!"

He stormed from the kitchen before she could say anything, not that she would, and left with the feeling that he had gone about that all wrong.

* * *

**AN: I got a couple nice reviews on the first chapter, and of course, they made my day. **

**I hope you enjoyed this second installment. I really enjoyed digging deeper into the relationship between Draco and Narcissa. **

**Let me know what you think of the story so far!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Overwhelmed with the quick response I have had to this story! Sorry for my super long break, but my term at school started and it has been very busy! Hope this chapter is worth it, and thank you so much for all the reviews! **

**140 follows after just two chapters.. That's crazy! **

**Well, enjoy! I hope the wait was worth it! I've already written half of the next chapter, so that one will come much faster than this one did. **

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Hermione sat there in heated shock for a few seconds before she threw herself against the edge of the table to snatch the prophet from where Draco had thrown it at her. Her fingers shook as she held the offending paper with much more care than it deserved and meticulously read every single word of the article. She then found herself reading every following article in the Prophet and her anger and rage developed into a hopelessly disgusted feeling. Every word was worthless propaganda, and that small part of her that didn't want to believe what was happening in the Wizarding world dissolved into nothing.

She didn't know how long she sat there reading the paper over and over again before a presence made itself known in the kitchen by slamming into the corner of a counter and cursing loudly.

Her eyes flicked over to Malfoy, and she dropped the paper like it had burned through the calloused skin of her fingertips. He was mumbling to himself as he stepped closer to her, and it wasn't until he was right beside her chair just a couple feet away that she noticed the pristine white parchment clenched between his fisted knuckles. She could still feel rage and something akin to devastation brewing inside her chest, but when he continued to simply stand there with quaking hands, her eyes slowly slid up to his face. He was wearing a set of formal black robes that had been impeccably pressed. His jaw was clenched and his expression closed off completely with hard lines defining his jawline. Every couple of seconds something would flash in his silvery eyes and his jaw and eyebrow would twitch. She wanted to hit him just like she'd done in third year, if not harder. _No_, she wanted to _hex _him. Curse him with all the dark curses she'd studied just so she'd be able to counter them.

But she didn't have a wand.

She could feel her magic simmering under her skin because her magic would never simply _go away_, but she was storing it. Building it up like her physical strength for the moment she would be able to escape her deceivingly comfortable prison. She wasn't even risking minor wandless spells out of fear of being caught out before she had fully formulated a plan.

His eyes left the table where the profit was sitting and landed squarely on hers.

She wished for nothing more in that moment than to be able to read minds. Malfoy, though hot tempered, was much better at hiding his true feelings than anyone she'd met before, and she resented that now more than ever. She studied his hardened silvery eyes, and her nose twitched when she couldn't glean any sort of emotions from him.

"I'm expecting company tonight," his hard voice broke through the tense air matter of factly, and she stared unflinchingly at him. He looked at her expectantly, but she maintained her silence. She wanted to scream and yell and curse for everything she was worth, but at the end of the day, where would that leave her?

Dead, assumably.

So she swallowed down her baser instincts and glared at him harshly.

"I'm going to have to lock you up," he rushed the words out of his mouth like he couldn't wait to get them off his chest.

Her lip curled in disgust, and he flinched as if she had dealt him a physical blow.

"The kind of company I'm expecting won't react amicably to the freedom I have given you," he said in a soft whisper, his words contradicting his tone.

She had to look away then. The _freedom_ he had given her. How incredibly ironic. When she turned her head fully to stare straight ahead, her eyes landed on an ornate clock that looked to be more expensive than anything she'd ever owned. Five o'clock in the evening. She'd been sitting there all day. With her fingers laced together in her lap, she dug her nails into the backs of her hands to maintain her statuesque stillness.

"I…"

His voice stopped abruptly, and she shut her eyes. Her chest tightened painfully as images of Malfoy locking her up in a cell came to the forefront of her mind. _That _and the so called _company _that would be under the same roof as her tonight.

"I… well…" He tried again, but his voice drifted off slower this time like he was genuinely trying to say whatever his body was physically incapable of allowing to escape.

She stood abruptly and didn't acknowledge him as she brushed past and breezed from the room. After a few moments, she heard his light steps following her as she made her way through the manor. She'd memorised the layout in the few days she had spent outside of her rooms. She found herself often wandering through the expansive house (if she could even call it that) in the early hours of the morning when she was guaranteed to not run into Malfoy, and therefore, she knew exactly where the dark cells were located in the cellar. She'd found herself every morning before the sun had risen staring from the last step of the stone stairs into the pitch blackness below, unable to take the last step. She didn't know if she was testing her bravery or simply thinking about how she could very easily have been bought by someone that would have kept her in them, but what she _did_ know was that she could never actually force herself to step down into them.

Now, she didn't hesitate before stepping down onto the cold, stone floor on her bare feet, and she only had to take two steps before sconces were lit along the stairwell. She stopped at the first cell on the left and stared into it.

She'd been trying to prove a point in going to her cell willingly rather than making the pale git drag her, but now that she was here, she was questioning her own sanity. Was she losing her self-respect by stepping into her own cage? Or was she maintaining her dignity by not allowing herself to be dragged?

She felt more than heard Draco stop directly behind her. His body heat was putting off a wave of warmth in the frigid air of the dungeon.

"I have to…" he started before stopping for a moment and starting again, "They'll want to see you."

Hermione felt a shiver rush through her, and her body jerked violently. They'd want to come down and see her like she was some kind of spectacle. An exotic animal in a zoo that Malfoy had paid a lot of money for and was now charging entrance fees.

Before she could think much more about it, she heard Malfoy whisper something from behind her, and her new clothes that she had so carefully selected that morning were transfigured into that same drab dress that they had forced her into the day she had been selected. Her hands automatically latched onto her shoulders, and she felt the confidence and pride she'd been using as a shield break under the cumulation of events. She had so carefully selected her clothes that morning as some kind of symbol of her willingness for a temporary peace between her and her and her Malfoy. The sizes he'd gotten were all wrong, but the idea of Malfoy buying muggle womens clothes did bring forward a slightly delirious bout of laughter. A sound that she hadn't heard in _months_.

And now the very man that had bought her new wardrobe had transfigured it into _this._

* * *

Draco couldn't believe how she'd changed in an instant. One moment she was standing proudly despite the circumstances and the next she had wilted into that girl from the first night.

From behind, he could see her small hands clutching the straps at her shoulders so tightly the skin around her fingers was turning red.

He quickly conjured a blanket in the corner of the stone cell and waited as she took tiny steps into the room. He slowly started to shut the bar door, and with every millimeter he felt more disgusted with himself. When it finally let out a loud groan and slammed against the jam, her entire body jumped. Through the bars, he looked down at her pale toes and skinny ankles. Almost unwillingly, his eyes traveled up her form, and his stomach grew more and more unsettled. His discomfort showed only in his twitching brow and the white knuckled grip on the letter from his father and the dark wood of his wand. His eyes left her toes and made their way up to where her knees were locked. Her legs were skinny and lacking any kind of definition and his eyes followed the splotchy skin all the way up to the black hem of the dress. Her arms disappeared in front of her body and if it weren't for her hands it would've looked like she didn't have any at all. The back of her neck was exposed, and he could see the knobs of her spine all the way up to the uneven cut of her hair which had grown just enough that it was starting to curl. He was studying the backs of her ghostly ears when she suddenly spun on him. Her cheeks were covered in angry splotches of red, and he could see tears building up in the corners of her owlish eyes.

For a moment it looked like she was begging him with just a look _not _to do this to her. He could see it written all over her open and expressive face and in the way her lips were moving slightly with unspoken words. He'd always hated the way Gryffindors put everything on the line simply by leaving their expressions so unguarded.

But after a few moments, where the only indication that he'd heard the plea she was unwilling to voice was a slight downturn of his mouth, her face morphed into something unfitting on her soft features.

Acrimony.

She _hated_ him.

She didn't need to say this either, but he could see and feel it with every bone in his body. All the way down to the marrow.

"I won't let them touch you," he said before he could even think about it, and he realized that he had never spoken truer words. He _wouldn't_. He thought about the guest list for the night and an odd desperate feeling that he hadn't felt since his sixth year when his and his mother's lives were at stake burrowed its way into his already _very _confused heart.

They would want things from her, from _him_ by association, but he would refuse.

She inspected him through her narrow eyes before spinning around again, and he realized then that this was a dismissal.

"I swear," he said strongly. He hesitated only a moment before turning back towards the stairs. He locked the door to her cell with every strong spell he'd developed over the years at the last minute as more of a protection for her than against her.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he unfolded the missive he had gotten from Lucius just that morning.

_I have informed the Dark Lord that your Manor would be perfect for tonight's function. Ensure the Mudblood is appropriately prepared. Do not disappoint me._

Lucius had stopped addressing and signing any owls he sent him sometime during Draco's seventh year. Those three simple sentences left a sick feeling in his gut that had him working harder than usual to mask his anxiety. The whole mess with Granger was only adding to that.

Draco was in the middle of crumpling up the letter when he heard the floo go off in the traveling room. Having to open his floo to this particular guest list had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth that he couldn't quite force out, so it was with a steel spine and falsely confident stride that he made his way to greet his first guest.

He could've passed out from relief when he realized it was simply Theo.

"Am I early?" Theo asked with a tone that Draco found entirely too light.

"Of course you're early, you twit!" Draco growled before walking towards the kitchens as he cast a tempus charm. He still had thirty minutes until guests were to start arriving, and his nerves had him compulsively rechecking to make sure Lopsy and the other elves were going to be properly prepared. He was vaguely aware of Theo's shadow-like presence behind him as he flitted like a mother hen from room to room.

"He's not coming, you know," Theo's amused voice said from somewhere behind Draco's left shoulder.

Draco was counting his liquor stores when he said absently, "Who isn't?"

Theo yanked him back by his elbow. "You have enough liquor, mate." Draco glared at him out of the corner of his eyes before straightening his spine as well as his robes. Theo stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. "The Dark Lord's not coming." His tone had finally shifted from deceivingly care-free to something serious and tense enough to draw Draco's full attention.

Draco turned completely and studied his friend. Theo's eyebrows were furrowed, and his face decidedly pale.

"How do you know that, Theo?"

"I know that because I overheard my father and Yaxley speaking just this afternoon about a sighting of Order Members somewhere around Whitecroft."

Draco's nose scrunched in confusion. "Order Members?"

Theo gave him a look like he was completely daft. "You didn't think they were all dead, did you?"

Draco's scowl deepened. "I don't waste my time thinking about Potter's little army. Thank you very much."

Theo shook his head at him like that was the worst thing he could've possibly said, but it _wasn't_ the truth of course. He'd thought about the possibility of survivors ever since Hermione had come to live under his protection. Yes. That's how he'd think about it. Protection. Anything to make him not feel like such a disgustingly vile human being.

"My bet is they are just biding their time. They're waiting for some kind of opening or slip up, so they can come back and finish what Potter started. I hope they know what they're doing."

Draco's head swiveled around on instinct before he gripped the front of Theo's shirt.

"Are you daft, Theo? Do you know what kind of company I'm expecting tonight? Are you trying to get us killed?"

Draco barely had any time to truly process what his friend had been saying before a ding indicating another floo arrival rang through the Manor.

Draco narrowed his eyes one last time before releasing him and whispering dangerously, "We'll finish this discussion later."

* * *

Hermione could hear the sounds of the party filtering down through the open door at the top of the stairs. It was a sick kind of tourture that left her curled up in a ball of anxiety against the back wall as she waited for the sound of footsteps on the stone stairwell. There was a very thin strip of light coming down from the sconces lining the stairwell, but other than that, she was bathed in complete darkness. Eerie silence filled the dense air of the dungeon, and she found herself falling into the routine she'd had at Azkaban.

Her mind replayed those ninety seconds before she'd been chained and dragged to the feet of Voldemort. Those moments right before she'd had to look into his red snake like eyes and pretend like she wasn't absolutely terrified.

The worst part was that when someone actually approached, she hadn't heard or seen them coming at all.

Her entire body jerked backwards when a pair of dragon hide boots scuffed against the stones directly in front of her cell door. Her eyes flew up, and she had to dig her nails into her upper arms to stop herself from flinching away. She would never forget those eyes.

"I had to see you for myself, nemnogo ptitsa."

His voice was deep and gruff, and she swore she could feel it vibrate through her bones. She _refused _to look away.

Antonin Dolohov fed off of fear.

His eyes flicked across her, and she narrowed her eyes. When he looked back into her eyes, he dropped into a crouch so that they were closer to eye level.

"I hate to say it, but I'm jealous of the Malfoy heir."

She was so focused on glaring daggers that she missed him drawing his wand.

"Podoydi blizhe ptitsa. Ya khochu uvidet' tvoye litso."

She couldn't help her eyes widening in panic when he waved his wand, and her body came flying toward the bars until he had one of his hands through the bars and the scratchy fabric of her dress gripped in a tight fist.

She pushed her hands against the bars and pulled her neck back to try and get away, but he was too strong.

She watched with wide eyes as he slid his wand up his sleeve before grabbing her so harshly by her chin that she was sure she would bruise.

His thumb moved to brush over her lips, and she opened her mouth wide to try and bite him. Before her teeth could close down on his thumb, he moved his fingers to grip her cheeks and halt her movement. Her eyes began to water as he let out a laugh that sent an anxious chill down her spine.

"So much fire in such a little witch!"

His amusement made her so mad that she used as much strength as she could to tilt her head back and spit at him from between the bars. Her lips curled into a satisfying smirk when it landed somewhere on his cheek. He jerked his head backwards before turning back to her furiously. His hand left her jaw and slid down to her throat. For a second she regretted her actions as she saw rage take over his expression.

"I see Malfoy hasn't taught you your place."

He gave her neck an experimental squeeze, and she automatically brought her hands to his to try and pull it away.

"Oh, are we panicking now, nemnogo ptitsa?"

* * *

Dinner had gone as well as he could have expected (which really just meant that his manor was still a place free of murder and torture), and when it came time for the men to retire to the Drawing Room for cigars and firewhiskey and the women to the parlor for elf wine, he found himself relaxing slightly. By some miracle (and a bit of tag teaming between Theo, Blaise, and himself), they had managed to keep the topic of conversation far away from the girl currently locked up in his dungeons. He should've known that things were going too well.

It wasn't until after everyone had started sipping their whiskey, that an odd feeling crept into his stomach. He did a quick count of everyone in the room and that odd feeling turned into complete panic.

He calmly set his glass on the table beside him and got to his feet.

"Excuse me a moment. I'm going to go fetch a couple more bottles of Fire Whiskey," he said as smoothly as he could manage.

Everyone practically ignored him except for Theo, no doubt remembering how Draco had compulsively been absolutely sure that he would have more than enough Whiskey before the guests had arrived. His friend studied him with nervous eyes before glancing around the room and seeming to think the same thing he'd been thinking.

Everyone was here except for Dolohov.

Theo stood. "I'll help you out, mate."

Theo followed his brisk pace out of the room and to the entrance to the dungeons.

"Why the hell did you put her down here," he hissed at him.

"_Not _now, Theo!"

Draco could not get down the stairs fast enough, and when he got to the bottom, he nearly growled in anger.

Dolohov was holding her by her throat and whispering something to her, that Draco couldn't quite make out. Hermione was choking for air and pushing her bare feet uselessly against the bars of the cell.

It took everything in him to calmly take a few steps closer.

"Playing with my new toy, Antonin?"

* * *

Hermione never thought she'd be grateful to hear Malfoy's voice, but when Dolohov dropped her like she'd burned him, that changed. Her hands automatically went to her tender neck, and she found herself gasping for air while simultaneously trying to scramble backwards.

"The chit hasn't learned her place," Dolohov growled out. Involuntarily, tears rose to her eyes as a panicked heat took over her body. Through blurred eyes, Hermione watched a muscle twitch in Draco's jaw before he tilted his head to the side in contemplation.

"I think I remember saying others could look but not touch. Didn't I say that, Theodore?"

Draco turned toward Theo, and she watched as Theo stared Dolohov down with a similarly masked expression.

"Yes, I do remember you saying that. Something about wanting her all to yourself."

Dolohov must have sensed some kind of shift because he got to his feet and took a couple steps toward them.

"You also seem to have forgotten your place, _little _Malfoy_._ The Dark Lord won't like to hear that you aren't doing your part to break your little _toy_ in."

When Hermione could breathe again, she bit her lip to hold in a retort about not being a toy, so that she wouldn't make the situation somehow worse than it already was.

She watched as his face broke out into one of those awful sneers that she had always despised. "Funny thing, I imagine it would be difficult for her to perform her duties if she was dead. It looked like you were coming quite close to hitting that mark."

Dolohov turned and looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, and Hermione bared her teeth at him. His nose twitched before a growl came from deep in his throat.

He made for the stairs, but not before stopping just beside Draco. Her eyes locked with Malfoy's as Dolohov hissed just loud enough for her to hear, "I suggest you make better _use _of her before someone suggests to the Dark Lord that you're going _soft._"

Then he disappeared up the steps followed closely by Theo.

His own words from just a couple hours ago seared themselves into the walls of her mind.

_I won't let them touch you._

Hermione watched as he ran his hands down the front of his robes as if his appearance had been ruffled by the seemingly controlled interaction before he took a few steps toward her and stood in front of the bars. His eyes landed on her chin and throat, and he flinched.

"I promise I won't leave you down here again," he whispered.

Hermione stood abruptly on her feet and stepped toward the bars. The entirety of the day she had forcing her to lose her grip on her control until it burst outward in a show of rage. She reached a hand through the bars and shoved him with all the strength she could manage. She couldn't even find it in herself to be satisfied when he stumbled back a few steps. When she spoke her voice was strangled and hoarse.

"I don't know _why_ you decided to buy me, and I don't want to know. But what I _do _know, Malfoy, is that you are in _no _position to continue making promises to me." She was borderline hysterical when she hissed, "I don't _want _your protection, and I don't need you to pretend like you care whether I die!"

* * *

Draco stormed back up to her cell and narrowed his eyes. He made sure to speak in a hushed voice on the off chance their voices would project to the large crowd of Death Eaters currently gossiping above them, "Seemed an awful lot like you needed my protection tonight!"

She bared her teeth and matched his tone, "I only needed protection because you locked me up here in the first place!"

He could feel his anger manifest in the heat that took over his entire body, and he lost all semblance of composure he'd told himself he'd keep today, "Don't you know how fucking good you have it here, Granger? Would you rather I let Dolohov have you? What about the Lestranges? I'm sure my father would absolutely _love _to take you off my hands. You're already pretty well acquainted with Malfoy Manor, maybe you'll be better off there!" She flinched, but he kept going, "Or maybe I'll just go ahead and give you to the Dark Lord!"

"Good I have it here? I am _literally_ your property!"

Draco had his mouth open to respond when a throat cleared from the bottom of the stairwell. He swung around in a panic and breathed a sigh of relief at the silhouette of his mother in the stairwell.

"Draco, dear, perhaps it'd be best if you return to your dinner party. I believe conversation is wrapping up, and it'd be best if you were there to see off your guests."

His anger seemed to dissolve when he lit the end of his wand and saw his mother's single raised eyebrow. He turned back to Hermione and watched as she shuffled back to the corner a little shakily and wrapped herself in the previously untouched blanket.

"I'll be back to heal you as soon as I can, Granger," he whispered tiredly, all of the harsh words from their argument slipping from his mind.

He watched as she turned her face away from him, and he averted his eyes at the sight of the bruises already starting to appear across her pale neck. He turned back to his mother and sighed.

"I'm coming," he muttered before breazing past the seemingly shocked woman (if her slightly puckered lips were anything to go by) and returning to whatever waited for him upstairs. He couldn't believe how thankful he was that it was his mother rather than his father that had come looking for him.

* * *

Hermione lost track of time after that and before she knew it, the transfiguration on her clothes was cancelled and the door of her cell was pulled open. She was relieved when rather than Draco's voice, she heard Lopsy's speaking to her in soft tones.

"You will come with Lopsy?"

Hermione carefully set the blanket beside her before looking over at the elf. She froze when she saw Malfoy standing just inside her cell. He was staring coldly at the stone floor between them with his hands placed casually in his pockets.

"I know you don't trust me, Granger."

She snorted, but he had the good grace to ignore her.

"But this will be a lot easier for the both of us if you stop fighting me when I'm trying to help you."

There was no anger in her voice when she asked, "_Are_ you trying to help me? Or are you just protecting yourself?"

He looked up and studied her for a moment before saying, "Can it be both?"

Hermione was struck silent for a moment. She got a sudden flashback to the way Draco had stared at Harry when his father had asked him to identify him in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. For just a moment she'd watched his eyes flood with a million different emotions, and she could tell that he was afraid _for_ them. Or at least afraid for what he'd have to witness happening to them.

_I can't- I can't be sure._

His eyes had flicked to her wide ones, and she _knew _that he recognized Harry. He'd walked away after that and faced the fire for the scarring events that followed.

She looked back up at him. Could it be both? Was he just playing mind games with her? He hadn't faltered in his serious expression, and she found herself even more confused than she'd been before. Did his motives have to do completely with needing her to win these barbaric duels? She somehow couldn't match the image of the Draco in Malfoy Manor with someone that supported this, but her Gryffindor bleeding heart had a tendency to betray her.

Instead of answering, she slowly rose to her feet, and she anxiously rested her hand over the sore part of her throat. Hermione took slow steps towards them before slipping past Malfoy as carefully as she could and reaching for the small hand Lopsy had held out for her with her free one. She let the house elf lead her out of the room and toward the library. The fire roared to life as Lopsy ushered her into the same chair she'd fallen asleep in just last night, and she lowered herself carefully into it, sitting on the edge and making her body as small as possible. She watched Draco conjure a stool directly in front of her before taking a seat with a heavy sigh. His legs spread so that her knees were sandwiched between his thighs, and his closeness unsettled her in ways she couldn't explain. He opened the lid to a small jar that she hadn't noticed in his hands before taking some of the paste onto his bare fingers. He paused with his hand just a few inches from her neck.

"You're going to have to move your hand, Granger."

She slowly lowered her hand and clasped it tightly with her other one. "Where did you get that paste?" She asked quietly. His hand froze, and his eyes darted from her neck back up to hers before returning to her bruises. He didn't answer her, but instead very softly started to spread the paste across her tender throat. The gentle way he was healing her combined with the events of the day and her months of being deprived of affection brought a flood of vulnerable emotions at the worst possible time.

"That's Fred and George's Bruise Removal Paste," she whispered with a thick voice. A distant memory of the now dead twin spreading the same paste over her bruised cheek a couple summers ago brought tears to her eyes, so she slammed them shut. His fingers left her skin for just a moment before gently coming back to where Dolohov had grabbed her face.

She flinched away from him, and he pulled away again.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked in a panicked voice that only further clouded her thoughts.

She shook her head slightly and squeezed her eyes tighter. After a moment's hesitation, he was back to rubbing the paste on her cheeks and chin.

When he was finally done, she released the breath she was holding and opened her eyes to him quietly scourgifying his hands.

"Lopsy has dinner for you when you're ready." He gestured to some potions on the small table to the left of her chair. "Take these. They'll help with your throat."

Before she could even blink, he was gone.

* * *

**AN: Let me know what you're thinking of this story so far if you feel so inclined. I love reading your reviews and often go through and reread them before I post the next chapters. Let me know your thoughts! This is my first dramione story, so I'm slightly more anxious over it than usual. Hope I am doing them justice.**

**Thanks as always for the follows, favorites, and reviews!**

**TRANSLATIONS:**

**Nemnogo ptitsa- little bird**

**Podoydi blizhe ptitsa. Ya khochu uvidet' tvoye litso.- Come closer, bird. I want to see your face.**


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